Iris & Mason

5. Iris

Iris.

"So he's still dancing even though he sprained his ankle?" I asked, throwing a handful of popcorn into my mouth.

"Either he toughs it out or they go home." Mason explained to me and repeated my actions.

Three weeks after we'd met, Mason and I had formed a habit out of hanging out with each other. He was really sweet to me, bringing me chai tea and croissants in the mornings to work, inviting me over for dinner, fixing my sink when it had malfunctioned, and that was just in a few weeks.

There we were, sitting on his couch with a popcorn bowl between us, watching Dancing With The Stars. I had never really watched it but when Mason offered to introduce me to it I couldn't say no.

"He's crazy. I mean he's a football player! Couldn't that effect is whole career?" I shook my head at the man as he struggled to get through the dance with his partner who barely wore any clothes.

"I think he retired last year actually."

"Still." I argued and threw a piece of popcorn at him, watching it hit his cute nose. He tore his gaze from the TV screen and pretended to be angry. I was always doing playful things to push his buttons so he was used to it, but the fact that he leaned over to tickle me was new.

"I'm not ticklish." I told him, not reacting to the way his fingers trickled around my stomach.

"Are you serious?" Mason looked at me incredulously. "You're serious."

I nodded with a smirk and pushed his hand off of my stomach. "Serious as a heart attack."

"Wow. Girls are always ticklish."

"I'm pretty sure I'm a girl, so..." I trailed off which made him chuckle lightly.

"You're also a one of a kind weirdo." He replied and threw a piece of popcorn back at me.

"Hey!" I frowned.

"You didn't let me finish." He held a finger up at me. "You're a one of a kind weirdo, and that's why I like you."

My heart started to pound a little harder against my chest when those three last words spouted out of his mouth. "I like you too."

Mason simply flashed me his trademark smile and continued watching his guilty pleasure of a show while I spent the time thinking about what just happened. What did he mean, exactly? I knew he liked me as a friend, but a part of me questioned if he meant more than that.

"Seven!" A judge on the screen held up a sign with the score number on it.

"Six and a half." An older British man stated, receiving a few boos.

"Seven!" A flamboyant third judge announced.

"He should've gotten eights!" Mason protested. "You try dancing with a sprained ankle, Len!" He talked to the TV as if the judges could actually hear him. It really must be a guy thing.

"You do know that he can't hear you, right?" I asked.

Throwing another piece of popcorn at me, he replied. "Shut up."

"Don't you throw popcorn at me!" I playfully shoved his shoulder only to get shushed as he let his eyes latch onto the TV. I immediately knew why.

"Man she's hot." He sighed as some D-list celebrity was being interviewed. She seemed pretty young, and would probably be a lot more average without all of that makeup caked on. The blonde hair, buttery tan skin, thin build, all of if was the opposite of me.

"Oh." I blinked once I realized that this must've been his type.

From the corner of my eye I could see Mason look at me with a furrowed eyebrow, but I kept my eyes on the screen, watching her rehearse.I wasn't about to let him know just how disappointed I was.